


Close from Afar

by LeapAngstily



Category: Football RPF
Genre: And did I mention fluffy?, M/M, Mild Cursing, Mild Mild Mild, Mildly Wet Peerlo, Monto is worse than a kicked puppy, Therapeutic fluff, mild nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 06:04:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1847158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeapAngstily/pseuds/LeapAngstily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Italy gets eliminated from the World Cup, and Riccardo is with them in the aftermath, because that is exactly what Skype is meant for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close from Afar

_Andrea is now online._  
  
Riccardo waits for a few more minutes before clicking the ‘Call’ button. Andrea will of course know he has been sitting by the computer waiting for him to show up since that horrible match ended, but he still prefers to pretend he has some pride left.  
  
“Hey Ricky, how’s it going?” Riccardo recognizes Gigi’s voice even before the video connection starts working, so he is not surprised in the least when the captain’s face flashes on the screen.  
  
Gigi looks exhausted, but at least he is smiling, which is much more than Riccardo was expecting after the team got eliminated.  
  
“Hi,” he greets with an awkward wave, ignoring Gigi’s question and going for one of his own instead, “How’re you holding up? Where’s Andrea?”  
  
“He’s— around?” Gigi looks over his shoulder as if to check on someone out of the picture, “We’re doing fine. Well, at least considering the circumstances. But fine.”  
  
Riccardo has always found it incredible how the Azzurri captain does not let anything faze him – he might cry after a loss, might yell at the referees, at the opposition, at his teammates, but after a while he is back to normal. Always reliable, always controlled.  
  
“What about Giorgio?” he asks after a moment’s hesitation, because he knows from experience that reminding players of the lost game is not usually a good idea.  
  
“Pissed off as hell,” Gigi answers with a shrug of one shoulder, pursing his lips in annoyance at the memory, “But he’ll be fine. No point crying over it now when the game’s already over.”  
  
That is as good as they could hope for, Riccardo thinks bitterly. He needs to call Giorgio later, return the favour for all the messages he received from the defender since the start of the tournament. The latest one is from this morning, upbeat and full of hope, not a sign of nervousness for the upcoming game.  
  
“I see,” is all he says to Gigi, a wistful smile tugging at his lips. He still wishes he could have been there with everyone. Being there, losing with the team, suffering with them, carrying the responsibility – as painful as it might be, it would have still beaten sitting at home in front of the TV with his leg in a cast.  
  
Gigi peers into the screen at his end, and Riccardo knows he is checking him for signs of sadness even if he cannot actually feel the captain’s eyes on him.  
  
“Are  _you_  okay?” Gigi’s tone is almost accusing, like Riccardo is doing something wrong by being more worried about his teammates than himself, “You’re not playing the blame game again, are you?”  
  
“I’m alright, really,” he assures the captain a bit too quickly, waving his hand dismissively. He has handled the disappointment of missing the World Cup many times over by now, and this is no time to start mulling over it again.  
  
There is a sound from somewhere out of the webcam reach, someone moving closer to the computer and then Andrea’s familiar voice, “Is it Riccardo? Let me talk to him.”  
  
And then Andrea is on Riccardo’s screen, sitting down next to Gigi who scoots back to make more room for him on the bed. Andrea is wearing only a towel wrapped around his hips, water still dripping from his hair, obviously fresh from shower, and Riccardo feels like his heart might burst from the mere sight of him.  
  
“Riccardo, for fuck’s sake, stop looking like a kicked puppy,” Andrea greets him affectionately, pushing his face too close to the webcam, distorting his handsome features. He always does that, and Riccardo cannot help but chuckle at his lover’s obvious attempt to cheer him up.  
  
“I’m okay! I told Gigi already!” he insists with a smile, wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye – more from relief than sadness, he tells himself – “Shouldn’t you be worrying about yourself?”  
  
“He was fretting over you the whole flight back,” Gigi quips helpfully over Andrea’s shoulder, dodging his friend’s fist when Andrea tries to whack him, “Said you wouldn’t be able to sleep before talking to him.”  
  
“And I was right, wasn’t I? It must be morning in Italy by now,” Andrea scoffs with a roll of his eyes, looking over his shoulder at Gigi, Riccardo all but forgotten, “Could you give us a moment of privacy? Go get that bottle of whisky, will you?”  
  
“Fine fine, I’ll leave you two lovebirds at it,” Gigi laughs, poking Andrea’s bare side before escaping another swipe of his fist, “But no online sexing, okay? Not sure I can handle that mental image.”  
  
“You’re the one thinking about it, not me!” Andrea yells after him, but is met only with a slam of the door. He then turns back to the computer, letting out a longsuffering sigh before addressing Riccardo again, “Now spit it out. I know you’re being stupid again. Sulking and feeling left out.”  
  
“Can you stop that?” Riccardo whines good-naturedly, leaning his elbows on the table, resting his chin in his hands, “I miss you, okay? Happy now?”  
  
Andrea’s face softens immediately, and he reaches his hand toward the screen, probably touching Riccardo’s picture with his fingers, “I’m coming home soon. We’ll be in Italy on Thursday.”  
  
“You say that like it’s a good thing,” Riccardo whispers, the traitorous tears stinging his eyes again even though  _he_  has no reason to cry, “I was prepared to wait for another two weeks, so I could have you back happy. Satisfied. Accomplished.”  
  
“I’ve accomplished everything a footballer can,” Andrea reminds Riccardo with a shake of his head, like Riccardo should know better, “This just wasn’t our tournament. I just wanna come home and sleep for a week. With you in my arms, preferably.”  
  
Riccardo smiles at the words, a sudden warmth spreading over him, and he crosses his arms under his head, now all but lying on the desk, the exhaustion from staying up the whole night finally catching up with him. He must look ridiculous to Andrea, barely visible through the webcam.  
  
“That sounds nice,” he mumbles, his lips pressed against his t-shirt sleeve as he tilts his head to look at the computer screen, at Andrea’s soft features and calming smile, “I’m looking forward to that.”  
  
His eyes are drooping, the worry finally easing from his mind, but he has to ask one more time, “But you’re fine, aren’t you? Not hiding anything from me?”  
  
“Yes, I’m good. I promise,” Andrea hums quietly, his voice stealing the last tension from Riccardo’s body, lulling him into a deceiving sense of security, “Now go to sleep, Riccardo. You’re supposed to be resting, you idiot.”  
  
“Fine,” Riccardo slurs as he sits up reluctantly, reaching for his crutches before turning to the webcam one last time, “Don’t drink too much. You know how horrible it is to travel with a hangover.”  
  
“Go to bed!” Andrea tells him again with his most commanding voice, “Or I’m gonna start thinking you’re actually waiting for the online sex.”  
  
“Would’ve been nice, before you came back,” Riccardo notes, only half-joking, taking in Andrea’s bare chest appreciatively, “I’m hanging up now. Good night, Andrea.”  
  
“Good night. I love you,” is the last thing Riccardo hears before closing the connection, and he has to fight a sudden urge to call Andrea again right away. Maybe for that Skype sex that they never got to try.  
  
Gigi would never let them live that one down, Riccardo thinks amusedly as he shuts down the computer and heads to the bedroom for some much needed sleep.  
  
He needs to think up an excuse to avoid all his responsibilities for at least a week once Andrea is back, because they have lots of catching up to do. And he still doubts Andrea is quite so alright with the loss, no matter what he keeps telling Riccardo and himself.

**Author's Note:**

> This is dedicated for every Azzurri fan in need of therapeutic fluff. I know I needed this, and I'm sure I'm not the only one.


End file.
